Joey
by Crimson Sun
Summary: After his house gets unexpectedly knocked down, Vincent must arise from fifteen years of sleep to go on the second greatest adventure of his life.
1. One

Joey By Crimson Sun

One

Mr. Vincent Valentine, ex-Turk, Avalanche member extraordinaire, had a lot of good deeds next to his name. He had, in his life, achieved a great deal, including breaking ties with his assassin past, trying to prevent a scientific breakthrough with catastrophic consequences, helping to rid the world of the evil parasite that is Shinra Inc, and of course, the cock of them all - Vincent had been a part of the crew that defeated the unknown villain that is Sephiroth before he could do as all villains wanted and plunge the world into oblivion. But all that was in the past for Vincent. After saving the earth so many times over, he was, understandably, just a little tired, and had long ago retreated into the only bed he felt comfortable in to spend another thirty years in comforting nightmares to atone for the new sins he had committed while atoning for the original ones. Indeed, Vincent would have slept until the end of time, with no spiky-haired demon to constantly flip open the lid of his coffin to hear him repeat his infamous phrase, if it had not been for that unruly sound that jarred into his thoughts like metal bars and prevented everything but a light dozing.

The sounds started only a few days ago, accompanied sometimes by the ground moving like no ground should move below him. Vincent hated the state of light dozing - it reminded him oh so painfully of the days he spent inside a glass tube, on display for the amusement of one evil bastard that should henceforth go unnamed. Vincent had dozed lightly when he was doped, drugged, high, or in need of more morphine, his face pressed against the window so that when he woke up, one of his cheeks was always cold and hurting. Dozing also reminded Vincent of that evil bastard himself, who was where he rightfully belongs, in the land of the dead - heaven, hell, it didn't matter. Hell would fry him and heaven would freak him. Ah, at last Vincent would be free from those tormented images of that brute's hideous face. In his dreams he would cackle occasionally because the mental picture of the evil bastard with white wings, a halo, and a harp was just too much. If only he could get back to those. Now, what was the problem again?

Oh yes, the rumbling and shaking. Vincent opened his eyes for a brief moment and hoped they were just a part of that dream he was having. No such luck, the floor went on boogying beneath him and the uneven music continued beating. Humph. Did this mean he had to get up? Wiping years worth of crud from the corners of his eyes and yawning in a fed-up sort of way, Vincent pushed open the lid of his coffin and arose from the dead, brushing his beautiful locks of raven hair away from his eyes as he did so.

_"Viiiinnnnnceeeeennnnnt....."_

Or maybe he would just sleep for a few more years, because he was DEFINITELY not awake yet.

_"Viiiiinnnnnnceeeeennnnt......"_ Said Aerith's severed head, floating a few inches above his chest so that their eyes met directly. She had been drained of all colour so that her large, apparitional head looked like a water jug of some sort, hanging there and rippling with the skill of the dead. Vincent gulped.

"A...Aerith?"

_"Viiiiinnnnnnceeeeeeennnnt....."_ The ghost moaned louder. _"Aaaaaveeeeeeenngeeee myyyyyyy deeeeeeeeaaaath...."_

"But we already did!" Vincent explained, backing away from the monstrosity as he did so. "We killed Sephiroth! The world is at peace! The peoples are united! The war is over! Humanity is saved! What else is there?"

The head stopped, thought, and suddenly broke into a large friendly smile that reminded Vincent of the old Aerith, which made him almost choke with relief. If only she had a body to go with that gentle smile, or some legs, for Gods' sakes.

"Oh, I know, Vinnie-chan." She grinned. "But what fun is being a ghost if you can't even scare anyone?"

"A ghost, eh?" He laughed nervously. "And here I was thinking you've only lost a few pounds. What are you doing here?"

Aerith opened her mouth wide dramatically. A gust of cold wind swept underneath her neck and blew her curtains of pearly white hair into perfect waves.

_"Waaaaaarrrrrrrrnnning yooooooooouuuuuu..."_ She answered. _"The paaaaaaaaaast is unfiiiiiiiniiiiished...."_

"What the-"

"That, and, they're knocking down your house." Aerith vanished in a puff of dried ice just as a iron boulder came whirling overhead, making Vincent realize the mansion no longer had a roof, or a sustainable structure, it seemed, as the whole three top floors caved into the basement on top of him.

Well, so much for sleeping in today.

- - -

AN: Next chapter soon.


	2. Two

Joey – By Crimson Sun

Two

The city of Nibelheim was a vastly changed place. First of all, it was no longer called Nibelheim, but Cloudtown, as the birthplace of the most famous hero of all time, who, eons ago, single-handedly defeated the evil totalitarian government, discovered fossil fuels, restored harmony on earth, and planted a sapling for every soul lost in the great war so they formed a peace sign on the New Continent when seen from altitudes of 300 miles and above. Coincidentally, Vincent's rubble of a mansion was located on the third Strife Street in the city, where it had been holding up constructions of a fourth. The residents decided that the mansion had long ago lost its value, even as a tourist attraction and a great architectural beauty and puzzle of its time, and that it did more harm than good as a spawning site for monsters and ghouls. Everything of value had been stored in the great Meteor Museum anyway, including the books and furniture, so there was no great loss at all.

Vincent, who had escaped miraculously unharmed, found himself again plunged unwillingly into a world where he was isolated and misunderstood. He wondered what year it was, how long since he first laid head on the smooth, velvet inbuilt pillow of his coffin, how long since the most disastrous crisis on earth came to an end, how long since he last had a shower. All these questions, colliding painfully with the sides of his skull, was giving him a massive headache, so that it was all he could do to wake from sleep the next morning.

Having regained a bit of his old sense and having cleared a few yarns of cobwebs out of his mind from the day before, Vincent was immediately able to pick up on several problems that faced his current situation.

One. Shinra Mansion was GONE. His last sanctuary, his place of vampire safety, if you will, had been DESTROYED. Without it, he would either have to wonder the world once more for a decent job (which he hadn't needed to do in... Fifty odd years), or rescue his coffin from the debris, find some space below the floorboards of an abandoned church somewhere, and sleep away another few decades.

Two. Despite having been one of the richest people in the world back in the days, he could hardly sustain himself for much longer on his share of the fortune in this new and hostile world. The stay at Nibel Inn used to cost 200 gil. Now it was 1500. Though this deflated both his spirit and his wallet, Vincent was able to gather from the price that he had slept for a long, LONG time indeed for inflation to have had such a devastating effect.

Three. Ah, probably the most important of all is: what the fuck was Aeris on about, if that really WAS Aeris back there? Maybe the accumulation of dust in his lungs had made him suffer some strange form of delirium. She had told him that 'the past was unfinished', whatever that meant. If this was supposed to be a sign for him to go on another world-saving adventure, she could just shove the offer right up her a - ah, neck. He was too old for that, despite his heavenly exterior, ho hum.

Vincent scowled at the highly decorated ceiling of Nibel Inn (so that's what they've been spending their money on) and plotted his next evasive action. He couldn't live much longer on the money he had, and he wasn't about to work for it like a common mule. He was Vincent Valentine, ex-Turk, skilled in romance and the deadly arts, damnit, not an unemployed teen begging in the streets. Nothing could reduce him to abandon his pride. NOTHING.

Then, he decided, floating beautifully from his bed using an ancient magic aura Chaos possessed and narrowly missing the chandelier, there was only one more thing to do.

The world's favourite hero beamed from the television set as Vincent packed his very meager belongings and his remaining money. The blonde on the screen held an expensive-looking PHS to his long lashes, smiled brilliantly, and preached how important it was for one to keep in touch with one's friends and to do it with style. Vincent smirked. Well, here was one sign he couldn't misread.

Next stop, Costel Del Sol, Cloud's Heavenly Villa.

---

AN: Ironically, Cloud really IS doing an ad for an expensive-looking mobile phone. Ho hum.


	3. Three

Three

"Storm, honey? Could you get the door?"

The blonde teenager seated in the beanbag in the living room continued with his activities, which involved mainly a book in his lap, a half-open textbook on the floor next to him, some giant earphones, and a TV remote changing channels every three seconds. It was a little hard trying to see the glorious swimsuit models of daytime television over that pen balanced on the tip of his nose, though.

"Storm? I'm not asking you again. Get the door please."

"But I don't want to greet him." The boy known as Storm answered, without interrupting any of his simultaneous activities. The pen tilted dangerously. "Can't we pretend we're not home?"

A pause came from the kitchen. Then, tiptoeing, Tifa came into the living room and crouched down next to the spiky-haired youth, eyes wide with apprehension.

"It's not your father, is it?"

"Oh no. It's _much_ worse."

Now Tifa was curious. "Mrs. Winston again? How many times have I told you she doesn't appreciate your 'talents' any more than your periodic 'acts of kindness?'"

Again, Storm shook his head. The pen, miraculously, swayed and stayed put. "She'll thank me one day - that budgie would've killed her in her sleep. Anyway, _you_ could open the door, if you're so keen. But the person on the other side isn't exactly a ray of sunshine."

Tifa was already two steps from the door. "As if we need it." She said, before pulling it open.

And there he was, the person Tifa had never expected to see again, still in the clothes she saw him in last... sixteen years ago? Despite the heat, Vincent had on his usual coolass crimson cape, and his untrimmed, gorgeous hair came cascading down his broad shoulders in ripples. His gloved hand was halfway to the doorbell, ready to press again, and by the shy, Vincent-style startled-rabbit look on his half-hidden face, Tifa could deduce that she was the last person he had expected as well. A few seconds of awkward silence dawned, broken by the sound of Storm's loud mutter of "I told you so!" from within.

"Vincent!" Tifa finally managed to splutter, a good-natured look settling with discomfort over her face. She thought the days of masquerading were over, but bad days seemed to have a tendency to come back and bite you on the ass. Tifa, in her years of living alone, remained in constant vigilance, because sometimes bad people, or more specifically, a certain bad, _blonde_ _person_ did as well, and in that case the potentialass-biting would be much more than a just metaphor.

Vincent, on the other hand, could not be classified as altogether bad. Though he never was a white dove either.

"I haven't seen you since Bugenhagen's funeral! What are you doing here?" She prompted. It seemed the ex-Turk had never been gifted in the art of conversation. No wonder about that ladylove of his. Shy men were cute, but after a while it gets very frustrating.

"I..." In this period of time, Vincent had regained his composure and coolness. It was in fact really fascinating to watch his face change from expression to expressionless so quickly, like one giant wipe of some invisible duster. "It's good to see you again, Tifa. I was..."

"Looking for Cloud?" Tifa asked, running just a bit out of patience. She never was as good as Aerith at pretending she cared. "You didn't think he still lived here? Mr. Big-shot, superstar, I-staged-my-own-wedding-as-a-publicity-stunt Strife?"

"Oh." A pause. "Do you know...where I might find him?"

"Yeah, but I wouldn't recommend it. You'll never get past the crowd of fangirls that envelop him like a plague. Alive, anyway."

Vincent looked a bit bewildered. The poor guy was so tall, but so lost, with his fashion of fifty years ago, standing so out-of-place on the most luxurious and populated beach paradise in the world, that Tifa's heart could not help just melt at the sight of that face.

"Look, do you want to come in?" She sighed, standing to the side and allowing him access to the air-conditioned corridor. For a moment Vincent's gaze shifted, from her face to the inside of the villa, and Tifa saw those red eyes fix on something, then look down at her questioningly. She glanced back to see Storm's face peeking from the living room, giant headphones still on, looking like he couldn't care less. At least he's taken that pen off his nose, she thought.

"That's Storm." She said, in answer to those eyes. They didn't waver. "My son." She added.

The eyes widened considerably.

"Cloud's son." Tifa mentioned.

She was sure that for a second, a smirk formed inside that annoyingly high collar of Vinny's, but a flash later, like all Vinny's emotions, it was gone.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Tifa responded to the phantom smile by tossed her hair, much like a disgruntled mare tosses her mane. "Are you gonna come in or what?"

Vincent didn't move, but lowered his head slightly to the ground. Tifa followed, and it was only then she noticed his suitcase lying against the door, and suddenly realised what was going on.

"If you need a place to stay, we've got plenty of room." She suggested, half-exasperated and half-amused by how adorable this guy was. "Yuffie always crashes here when she needs to get away from duties, and you wouldn't believe how many times Shera and Cid have made up here."

"Thank you Tifa." It was only then he picked up his suitcase and shuffled awkwardly in. "I appreciate it."

She guided him into the guest bedroom, aware that Storm had left his multitasking and was peering with minimal interest at the man whose appearance really needed some attention. Tifa felt a little self-pitiful all of a sudden. She's already renounced around the neighbourhood for having a son who's...more than a little lenient towards the weird side, and now what are they going to think after seeing a strange, raven-haired prettyboy with a left arm made of metal moving in with her? And what if Vincent and Storm influence each other in a less-than-desirable way? Teenagers, no matter how eccentric they were, were universally known to be angsty, and Tifa didn't need anymore of THAT around the house, thank you very much.

"Storm, this is one of my friends, Mr. Vincent Valentine." She introduced, secretly knowing that Storm already knows. There's now the matter of how to explain to Vincent like she explained to the others just how to deal with her son. Like the former Cloud, he can be quite... _disturbing _to outsiders, though in a somewhat different way.

But Storm himself had already decided to cut to the chase: "Vincent Valentine." He announced, very unenthusiastically given the nature of the news: "Aerith wants you and I to go to Midgar immediately. There we will pick up on the unfinished past, and you will get to do what you didn't get a chance to sixteen years ago."

Vincent, who was sitting on the bed in the process of unbuttoning his cape, froze so instantly that he looked like he'd been petrified by five green dragons at once. Tifa was also momentarily stunned. In all these years of adapting to Storm's unexpected bursts of 'inspiration', this had got to be the biggest, and most ridiculous, piece of information that has ever come out of his mouth. For nearly a full minute, nobody moved. But given the circumstances, Tifa felt, after recovering a little, that it was her duty as host and mother to inform their guest exactly why he had been temporarily deprived of his movement capabilities. Maybe if she distracted him a little, his pupils would reappear, for Gods' sakes.

"Vincent, Storm here has a 'gift'... of sorts." She sighed. This never did get easier. "He's psychic."

"That's right." Storm grinned. "Come on, we're to leave immediately. And I don't like it anymore than you do that Aerith brought Hojo back to life."

This time, even Tifa couldn't remain standing. Her knees gave way and she collapsed backwards onto Vincent, who, she discovered later, had turned the colour and rigidity of set concrete.

---

AN: Here it gets interesting-er.


	4. Four

Four 

To the tourists, Midgar was still 'The Floating City', though few of them stopped to question why. For the days of Midgar's two-plated existence was long over, and now, the city merely rested grudgingly on the ground just like every other respectable city. Shinra Building was gone; in its place stood a huge department store stretching all sixty-something floors to the sky (women's lingerie floors twelve through to twenty-six), and the new trains had specially designed windows so the awed Wutainese sightseer can better view the sixteen-feet billboards of scantily-dressed idols which lined the city's walls.

It was in one of Midgar's trains that Vincent and Storm were now seated, the latter being preoccupied by his dad's latest chart-topper musical hit, 'Wanna stroke my sword?', which was playing loudly from the train's speakers.

"So…remind me again where we're going?" Vincent was becoming more nervous by the minute from the combined force of the ill news he had just been delivered, and the sheer…sparkliness of Midgar city. Nothing was what he remembered. There were no more beggars or slummers, in their former places stood sleazy merchants with giant jackets and young girls whose skirts disappeared when they sat down. The friendly hum of machinery was gone. The weighty atmosphere he was so fond of had vanished. The price of hot-dogs had skyrocketed. The overwhelming cheeriness of the place made him feel sick to the stomach.

Storm Strife was not helping either. Currently, he had engaged himself in the delicate art of origami, a skill that attracted many an interested glance in their direction from the other passengers. His travel bag was open at his feet, which, Vincent soon discovered, was filled with nothing but colourful cranes, dogs and other assorted paper creatures. Perhaps Storm was prepared to make himself some paper underwear later, Vincent thought, as he had clearly packed no change of clothes.

"Like I said, we're going to Midgar University." Cloud's protégé 'answered', hands still folding precisely even as his eyes riveted on one of the girls sitting in the seat across from them, who belonged to the species of almost-non-existent-lower-garment-females previously mentioned.

"And…why are we going to Midgar University?" Asked Vincent, annoyed at the teenage boy's constant breach of Grice's conversational maxim of manner. Would it kill him to be unambiguous for once?

"Because Hojo's there."

"What's Hojo doing at an university?"

"Studying."

Vincent sighed, a sinking feeling starting to develop where his last lunch had been about two decades before. He was getting nowhere with this. Storm was obvious ungifted in the department of speech, besides perhaps when he had a 'bout of inspiration' alike the one that got them into this mess in the first place.

But seeing as this whole sorry affair concerned his old arch-foe, Vincent strived to make one last attempt at wringing information out of Storm.

"Is there anything else I need to know? About Aerith or about Hojo?"

Storm thought.

"Yeah. Hojo calls himself 'Joey' now. We get off here."

And, standing up, he presented the paper flower he had been folding to the surprised girl opposite him, and made for the exit.

-

Midgar University was an impressive building, built in a grudge-match between Midgar and Junon. Junon's Academy was ancient, and had decades of famous scholars backing its prestige. Midgar University, having only been established after Meteor, had artificial ivy crawing up its stony exterior and turned out exceptional party-goers year after year. Junon Academy produced soldiers and SOLDIERs alike, where Midgar University's Student Union was also an unstoppable fleet, especially when hackling other students (and sometimes lecturers) for protection money. Indeed, Midgar University matched up to its rival in every way possible, and even had some things Junon Uni did not. For example - a haunted set of stairs...

...and a tendency to attract the most eccentric of students.

But Storm and Vincent were not outside the university's main campus, Instead, they were standing across the street from a cute little two-storey terrace house.

"I suppose Hojo - or Joey - lives in there," Vincent sighed. "And until I meet him I won't understand what this 'unfinished past' business is?"

Storm nodded: "You're catching up, Valentine. Note this: the first person - the first - you encounter in the house will be Hojo reawakened. Underline: FIRST."

"Right. Should I knock or barge in?"

"Listen to your heart."

Vincent started to cross the road, but Storm caught the end of his cape.

"One last word. Joey...may...look a little _different _to the Hojo you remember."

Vincent didn't like the smirk that came onto Storm's pale face as he said this. Not one bit.

-

A pretty nothingy chapter. But now you know why the fic's called 'Joey'.


End file.
